User blog:The Nameless Lancer/The Fallen Lancer - Chapter 1: The Fallen Lancer
'''The Fallen Lancer '''is first and titular chapter of my fifth fanfiction, "The Fallen Lancer". I'm remastering this story, because I'm not a fan of the original product, and I want it to be much better. Another reason is that I want to do more stuff with Harold. I'm trying to improve my writing, and to do that I will be writing the chapters on google docs, working on them until I think that they are good enough, then publishing them. That means that I won't be able to put out chapters as fast as I used to, but they are going to be much better in quality, so it's a good trade. I hope you like this chapter. The Fallen Lancer So I arrived in the city of Thrace, a place that I haven’t been since I was 23 years old. I received a letter from my stepsister two weeks ago, telling me that my father had died tragically. The funeral was today. I had planned on arriving a few days in advance, but the boat that I rode from Yharnam was not as fast as I had hoped. After the funeral, I was planning on staying for about 3 more weeks, in order to catch up with my family that I hadn’t seen in a long time. As I approached the city on horseback, I crossed the great iron bridge that crossed over the bridge and leads into the city. The two guards at the gate opened it for me, allowing me to enter the city. During the fifteen years since I had left home, Thrace changed very little. In front of me as I entered the gate was the tavern, which was a two story building made of iron (like every building in the city) with a stone column separating the two front doors, the top of which extended above the roof, and was shaped like some kind of animal head. There were two walls on both sides of the center of the city, with several paths branching off into different parts of the city. To my left was a path leading to the market of the city. There, the city blacksmith shop greeted me to my right as I entered the market. In front of me were four market stalls, all run by a different person. One of them sold vegetables, one sold bread, another sold fruit, and the last one sold meat. In the far right corner of the market was the apothecary, where they sold medicine and other health related things. None of them could compare to the blood healing in Yharnam, but they worked well enough. I had brought a fairly decent amount of money from home, so I could buy as much food as I wanted if I needed to. North of the market was the city graveyard and one of the living areas. The graveyard was nothing out of the ordinary. There were a few graves outside, and a large catacombs inside, which I had no plans on going inside. Ever. The living area had several large houses that looked very expensive. They all looked almost identical on the outside. They were brown and gray, had two stories, and had a small stone wall surrounding them. Probably the most interesting part of the city was the slum where a bunch of Dark Elves were forced to live. I’ve seen plenty of shit holes in my life, and this one was probably the second worst. Everything looked rundown, poorly maintained, and all of the Dark Elves looked like they were mistreated. It was very obvious that they were not wanted here. I wandered around that area for a while, when I was approached by a fairly beautiful Dark Elf woman. Her skin was very pale, unlike most Dark Elves, who have darker skin. “You shouldn’t be here. Unless you’re one of us, which I highly doubt, you’re not wanted here”, she told me. “Dressed like that, you’re likely to find trouble.” Indeed, my current attire was a bit odd. I was wearing a light gray robe, a black hooded cloak, a knight helmet, a pair of very stylish boots, and was carrying a few weapons. “I can take care of myself,” I told her. I’ve survived countless life threatening situations, and Thrace was nowhere near as dangerous as Yharnam. “I hope so,” she responded. “Still. Be careful.” “I will.” I left the slum, and asked a guard where the funeral was being held. He told me that it was at the church near the city palace, so I went there. I saw everybody enter the church, meaning that the funeral was about to begin. Since I didn’t want to sit through an entire funeral, I decided to go find some ways to waste time. I went to the tavern, sat down by the steps, and started juggling two poison knives. A few of the townsfolk stopped to watch me juggle, and were clearly entertained by my performance. After juggling for about twenty minutes, I was getting tired, and accidentally cut myself with one of the knives. I put them back into their sheathes on my belt, stood up, and headed to the market. I bought some bread from one of the vendors, went to the church, sat down on the stairs, and ate the bread. After finishing my snack, I took out a bottle of vodka that I had brought from home, and drank it. Once the bottle was empty, I threw it on the ground, and it shattered. I resumed juggling my knives for the next 10 minutes, then decided that I had wasted enough time, and entered the church. When I entered the church, everyone looked towards me. My current attire wasn’t exactly appropriate for church, especially since I was carry some weapons. After looking at everyone, I proceeded towards the altar, pulled a coin out of my pocket, and gave it to the priest as I stepped onto the altar. Then, I saw my dead father. He looked exactly as he did when I left home. I kneeled down next to his coffin, put my hands together, and said a prayer for my father. "Niech twoja dusza znajdzie wieczny pokój, Badź wolny od tego okrutnego świata, I wiedz że nie zapomnisz. Żegnaj, Ojcze." After saying the prayer to my father, I stood up, took off my hood and helmet, and placed my hand on my father’s coffin and whispered “Farewell, Strider Jenkins”. I turned towards everyone, and they all recognized me now. I looked almost the exact same as I did when I left home, apart from looking older. When I walked off the altar, I sat down at the back of the church, and waited for the funeral to end. It was good to be home, even though I was only going to be here for a few weeks. Credits I think that this is a good remaster. How 'bout you? Tell me what you think in the comments. The prayer that Harold said for his father was pretty broken Polish for "Be free from this cruel world, And find eternal rest in the heavens, and know that you will not be forgotten. Farewell, Father". I don't actually remember exactly what I translated because I am an idiot. Category:Blog posts